Recollection

twenty-four | reaper

song: Till I Collapse - Eminem

trigger warning: violence, mentions of self-harm

The air was thick and musty inside the underground Fightclub. I slipped through the shadows, my hood low and my face hidden beneath the familiar bandana that covered everything below my eyes. The name Reaper was whispered as I moved past the crowd, but I barely heard it. All I could feel was the heat beneath my skin, the same heat I used to control with fire. The same heat I'd tried to burn out of me once. Twice. So many times.

My head was a storm. The tightness in my chest had been building for months.

I wasn't supposed to be here, I knew that but I wasn't supposed to feel this way either. The more I tried to bury it, the more it smothered me. Lia. My sister, who I'd mourned. My sister, who faked her death. My twin. I could still see her face contorted in pain as she was trapped in the car. I could never get that image out of my mind. She didn't die that day but after everything, with her being away...she might as well had. I lost her then and then I lost her twice for good. I could still hear the reasoning she gave me, the excuses, the justifications. But none of it was enough to stop the rage boiling over. I was angry at her, at everyone, but most of all at myself.

That's why I was here.

The rage simmered just below my skin, threatening to consume me. She had her reasons—of course, she always had her reasons—but none of them mattered. Not when I'd spent months thinking she was dead. Not when I'd mourned her, hated myself for not being able to protect her. I thought I'd buried the worst of it. I thought I was in control.

Turns out I was wrong.

I slipped into the ring, muscles tense as the crowd screamed for blood. I needed this. Needed the violence to drown out the thoughts. To burn the anger away.

Across from me stood Firefox. He was tall, wiry but strong, with a smirk that made me clench my fists even harder. His red hair looked like it had been dipped in flame, a perfect match for his name. He had a reputation, but he wasn't Reaper. No one was. I'd never lost a fight except when it came to my twin, and tonight wouldn't be the night that changed.

He sauntered forward, cocky, his red hair slicked back into a tight ponytail that flamed behind him. His wiry frame was covered in scars, probably from the countless street fights he'd been in, but none of them would help him tonight.

I didn't move. My fists clenched tighter. My knuckles ached under the bandages, but I needed that pain. I needed it sharp.

"Reaper, huh?" he sneered, loud enough for the front row to hear. "I always thought you'd be taller. Maybe scarier too. Like a knockoff ghost story."

I grunted, not bothering with a response. He was trying to bait me, rile me up. I'd been doing this long enough to know better than to give him what he wanted. But then he added, "What's with the bandana? Hiding that ugly mug? Or is it to cover up your loser face when I knock you out?"